


here's to taking what you came for

by growlery



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03, Sharing a Bed, selectively canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:10:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5904127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Raven have been sharing a bed for warmth and comfort for a while now, but it’s strictly platonic. Eventually, someone gets handsy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	here's to taking what you came for

**Author's Note:**

> for [this prompt](http://ravenbell-kink.dreamwidth.org/1145.html?thread=7801#cmt7801) at the ravenbell kink meme because platonic bed-sharing is everything i'm about. title is from never ending circles by chvrches.

It's a long, bitterly cold day the first time Raven ends up in Bellamy's bed.

(It's the second time, technically, but they never talk about that first time and, anyway, it's not like either of them are keeping count.)

It's late, and Bellamy's only just back from a supply run to Mount Weather, and he's exhausted by more than just the physical effort of it. Guilt is a heavy burden, it turns out, and Bellamy’s just keeps getting heavier.

He's tugging his shirt over his head, ready to collapse into bed, when he hears the door to his room open. He tenses, muscle memory, and pulls the shirt all the way off his chest.

The challenge falls off his face when he sees that it's Raven.

"You look like shit," she says, in greeting, and Bellamy rolls his eyes.

"Good evening to you too," he says, "can I help you with something?"

Raven fidgets. Bellamy's eyes dart to her leg, then swiftly back up to her face. His heart starts to pound, and he thinks, _maybe_ , but her and Wick have been broken up for weeks, longer than they were even together. 

(Besides, Raven isn't the type to repeat a procedure she already knows won't work.)

(( _Besides_ , it was one time, once, and they never talk about it, and it's fine, it's fine.))

He feels, suddenly, very conscious of his bare chest. Not that Raven cares. He still doesn't know what's brought her here, why she's so uncomfortable, but she's not at all fazed by his state of undress, that much he can tell.

"It's fucking cold outside," Raven says, like he'd somehow be able to avoid noticing that fact. He makes a face at her that he hopes conveys this, and she makes a face at him right back. "It's fucking _cold_ outside, and the blankets they gave us may as well be made out of air. I was gonna ask Monty, but Miller beat me to it." She takes a deep breath. "Bellamy Blake, you're my only hope of staving off hypothermia."

It takes Bellamy another second to figure out what Raven means. When he does, he says, "Monty and Miller are sleeping together?"

Raven's eyebrows go up. "Only in the most literal sense," she says. "I know that's hard for you poetic types to understand."

"Sensible," Bellamy says, even though it's probably not, with the way they've been with each other, lately, with Bryan still unaccounted for along with the rest of Farm, along with Monty's parents. Miller’s not going to be another Finn, Bellamy knows that, but that doesn't mean he can't worry.

"Is that a yes, Bellamy?" Raven says, dry, and Bellamy feels suddenly flustered, and doesn't know why.

"I said it was sensible," Bellamy says, and he doesn't know when Raven stopped fidgeting but she has, looks perfectly at home in the middle of his room. She nods.

He gets into bed, still tired right down to his bones, and he's not sure what he expects, exactly, but it's not for Raven to crawl right in next to him, still fully-clothed except for her boots.

"Uh," he says, and Raven just scoots in closer, not quite touching him but still very much in the circle of his body, his warmth.

"One sec," she says, and strips her shirt over her head. The brace is next, swift, practised movements until her leg is free, and then she's peeling off her trousers, careful, jaw set in either pain or quiet frustration, Bellamy can never tell. In a moment, she's in only her underclothes, swearing under her breath, pressing her body up close to him. Bellamy has to smile.

She throws one arm over his waist, so he pulls her in closer to him, letting his hand settle in the small of her back.

"This all right?" he asks, meaning to sound sarcastic, but he can't even pretend to be put out. He's warmer than he's been in ages, and it's not like he minds the company. It should bother him, probably, how Raven always seems to see right through him, through every mask he tries to wear. 

Raven's quiet for a second. Her head's nestled against his chest, a perfect fit under his neck, so Bellamy can't see her face. 

"You're rubbing my back," she says, eventually. Bellamy immediately withdraws his hand. He hadn't even realised he was doing it. "No, it was- keep doing it."

Bellamy relaxes. His hand finds its way back to her back, but this time it's more purposeful about the circles it draws, seeking out points of tension to smooth them out. He feels Raven sigh, the tickle against his bare skin. She's still shifting, still obviously restless, but she's loose in his arms, her breath coming in easy.

He closes his eyes. He thinks about saying good night, or something equally ridiculous, but he's so, so tired, and it doesn't take him long to slip into sleep.

*

It's never as awkward as that first - second - time. Raven doesn't ask any more, just shows up in his tent and gets into his bed, and if he's not feeling like company he pokes her in the side and makes a face at her, and she pats him on the shoulder and gets back out again.

It actually only happens once, one night when Jasper's drunk himself into a stupor. Monty stands beside Bellamy, stone face barely covering his grief and anger, all mixed up inside him. Bellamy wishes he had words for him, for this, for the burden that weighs on both their shoulders, but all he has is his own grief, his own anger, and when Raven shows up, it's with a look on her face like maybe she gets it, but Bellamy prickles all over, can't get his hands to stop itching. 

He doesn't sleep well. As he tosses and turns, he wishes there were someone beside him to keep his body still. They all get nightmares, sometimes; it's one of the hazards of crash-landing on a planet that immediately tried its best to kill you in every way it could manage. Bellamy hadn't noticed until now, though, that he sleeps better when he's not alone with his conscience before his eyes close.

It's a few hours after he turned Raven away when he gives up on sleeping at all. He rolls out of bed, puts his shirt back on and pads out of his room. He doesn't mean to go to Raven's, but he ends up there anyway, and when he stops in front of her door, he isn't really sure where else he expected himself to go.

He knocks on the door, loud enough to get her attention if she's awake but quiet enough that it won't disturb her if she's asleep. He waits a second, two, three, and then the door swings open and Raven's standing there, leaning forward on her crutches. 

She arches her eyebrows at him, but doesn't say anything, just waits a beat before turning to go back to bed. When he gets in next to her, pulls the covers up round them both - and Raven was right; her blanket may as well be air - he feels Raven's mouth graze his forehead. 

Bellamy exhales, slow and deep, then turns, shifting until his body fits in the curve of hers, curled around his. He feels her breath on his neck, warm, and then one of her hands splays across his belly, pressing in just the slightest bit. Bellamy exhales again, and it doesn't fix anything, not the anger or the hurt or the loneliness or the guilt, but in the cradle of Raven's body, he's still. 

*

So it's a thing, but it's not a _thing_. It's just something that happens, not every day, but often enough that Bellamy's started to expect it, misses the warmth of Raven's body in his bed when it's not there.

"We've started a trend," Raven tells him, one night, "I saw Harper coming out of Monroe's tent this morning."

"Yeah, but Harper and Monroe are actually sleeping together," Bellamy says, and Raven's eyes go wide and delighted. 

"Tell me everything," she says, because everyone knows Bellamy's the best person to go to for camp gossip. (And also the worst, because he won't tell you anything unless he trusts you with it, and Bellamy Blake doesn't trust many people.)

He starts telling the story, how he noticed them growing closer during training sessions until he eventually found them trading gentle kisses behind the steadily growing crop centre, and Raven rolls so that she's curled up against him, her back against his front. He shifts to accommodate her, stroking his thumb over the hard lines of her stomach muscles, and Raven makes a pleased noise.

Bellamy is hard. It's not the first time it's happened, because Raven is beautiful, and his traitorous body never listens to his brain, remembers only the time their bodies were even closer than they are now. But that's all it is. Muscle memory. Bellamy knows better, and Bellamy isn't going to do anything about it.

"You know," Raven says, when he's done, "everyone thinks we're actually sleeping together, too."

Bellamy was aware of this, but he wasn't aware that Raven was aware of this. His mouth is dry. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't have words for this, either.

Raven turns slowly in his arms so she's facing him again. There's a hair's breadth between them, and this close to her, Bellamy can see the challenge in her face that doesn't quite stretch to her eyes, wide and uncertain. 

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, voice rougher than he meant it to be, and Raven's eyes dart down to his mouth. 

He's not sure which one of them moves first, but in the next moment, they're kissing, one of Raven's hands in his hair to hold him steady, twist his face so their noses don't bump. They do, anyway, and Raven makes a frustrated noise, tugs on his hair to get a better angle. Bellamy exhales, soft. Raven shudders, and their lips part, but they're still holding each other, still keeping each other close. 

“So we're doing this,” Raven says, but where he'd expect there to be bravado, her voice is just soft, her eyes just open. 

“In the poetic sense,” Bellamy says, and Raven grins, tipping her head forward so it rests against Bellamy's. 

“Everything's poetic, with you,” she says, “I should've known.”

(It turns out he doesn't really need words, not for this; he sinks down her body and makes himself comfortable between her thighs, grips her hips close and hums all the things he wants to say against her skin, and there's a poetry in this, too, aborted rhythms steadying out into something that builds, until Raven shudders and cries out, the purest kind of song.)


End file.
